


Safety Reminders

by Ad_Astra



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Humour, M/M, Sparring as foreplay, cheap lecherous jokes, warp shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 05:22:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12226608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Astra/pseuds/Ad_Astra
Summary: In which Noctis warps out mid coitus and Gladio momentarily fears Lucian magic stole his dick.





	Safety Reminders

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is only actually 10% porn; the rest of the 90% are just dick jokes and Gladio suffering magnificently, so if you're not about that life, I'm sorry

Gladio should have seen this coming.

Really, it's not like they made an effort to stop this from happening. No sock on the door, no misdirecting text to Prompto about fake places to meet cute girls, no underhanded attempt to ask for the most complicated dish for dinner so Ignis will spend extra time shopping, no nothing.

It was just... bound to happen.

Granted, this whole situation is simply the end of a very long hesitation, because really, tumbling into bed with the King of Lucis isn’t exactly in his itinerary to deliver said King safely to the arms of his beloved fiancée.

But  _it_  happened.

And _this_  happened.

*

See,  _it_ started like this:

“Too easy,” Gladio says, smirking down on Noctis, who’s currently struggling on the ground under the solid weight of Gladio’s hips, both wrists easily pinned down by Gladio’s grip. “Seriously, it’s like you’re not even trying.”

Noctis glares up at him, all spitfire determination in the face of Gladio’s sheer brute strength. Gladio has to give him points for effort. Noctis has spent the better half of yesterday’s hunt getting mauled by couerls, which of course, is completely unacceptable, hence the necessity for Gladio to come up with a new training regimen for advanced phasing. Because in the forest of Duscae, pussy eats  _you._

(Prompto nearly peed himself laughing at that joke, which made the lambent trout Noctis slipped down Gladio's tank top totally  _worth_  it. Ignis looked a bit peeved, though it’s probably less because of the vulgarity of it, and more because he didn’t think of it first.)

Noctis is red-faced and sweaty from the effort of trying to buck Gladio off and failing. Gladio grins and lowers his face to hover over him. “You’re just wasting energy Noct,” he reminds him. “Come on. Focus.”

Noctis huffs but reluctantly stills. He also closes his eyes, a move that Gladio personally thinks is a bad idea when one’s face is about to get ripped off by a berserk animal but he’ll let it slide for now. One step at a time.  

He watches Noctis intently, waiting for that familiar glimmer of blue around Noctis’ skin, as he calls forth centuries old magic of his bloodline, the power of kings, the ancient gift of the crystal and —

Noctis opens his eyes, leans up, and presses his lips to Gladio’s.

It was a short enough peck— just a brief, damp clinging of lips but it was definitely  _not_ accidental. And before Gladio can even properly react to this, his grip goes slack. Noctis immediately breaks out of his hold and shoves him off, phases up, and lands his boot on Gladio’s chest before pressing slightly into his neck.

“Too easy,” Noctis singsongs above him.

“What.” Gladio manages to splutter out, despite Noctis making a halfway sincere effort to crush Gladio’s windpipe into his spine. “What the fuck?!”

“What. You said I should focus.” There’s a manic edge to Noctis’ grin, as he summons Ragnarok from his armiger. “I totally got you  _ha_. And I thought Prompto was the gullible one.”

Gladio struggles to buck him off, but Noctis casually dangles the tip of Ragnarok a few inches above Gladio’s eye, so he settles for glaring at him with enough intensity to burn through an adamantoise’s shell instead. “You were supposed to phase out,” he says through gritted teeth. “You know? Blood of kings powers?”

“Too much effort.”

“Okay then, next time a Coeurl pins you to the ground, I expect you to make out with it!”

“If it’s a couerl, I’ll try to phase out.”

Gladio fights the urge to scream. “So why didn’t you do that  _now_?!”

Noctis looks pitifully at Gladio, as if he’s the one being a headass. “Because you’re not a coeurl.”

Typical Noctis. Ignis is driving, therefore I’ll sleep. Prompto’s tired, therefore we’re turning the car around and booking a room in the nearest hotel. Gladio’s not a Coeurl, so it’s perfectly logical to kiss him to win at training.

Gladio takes a deep calming breath, reminding himself that dealing with his royal highness’ irregular bouts of mania is part and parcel of his duties as Noctis’ retainer. Even if it was never explicitly stated in his job description and the fact that he’s pretty sure this goes above and beyond his pay grade.  

At any rate, if Noctis is going to play it  _that_ way, well Gladio is willing to humour him. Let it never be said that Gladio's not a good sport.

“Fine,” he acquiesces. He raises his hands up carefully, never leaving eye contact with Noctis. “I guess it’s finally time…” He enunciates each syllable clearly and slowly, watching as Noctis expression shifts to gleeful victory, his shoulders and legs relaxing. “...For me to admit...”

Ragnarok flickers into translucence, but that’s all the lead time Gladio’s needs. “— that you still have a lot to learn!” he finishes, as he grabs Noctis ankle swiftly while rolling to the side, Noctis’ surprised shout sounding much closer and louder as he falls down to where Gladio needs him to be.

And just like that, Noctis’ is on the ground again, face down, both arms wrenched behind him, Gladio’s knee digging into the small of his back.

“I thought I was the gullible one,” Gladio croons Noctis’ words back to him, as Noctis cranes his head to spit out grass and glare at Gladio.

Noctis wriggles like a particularly rabid baby snake, pushing his ass back against Gladio’s hips. It doesn’t do a lick of damage, naturally, but it does unnerve Gladio for some Six-forsaken reason to instinctively put more distance between them, which is enough for Noctis to somehow phase out and get away from Gladio’s clutches a second time.

His attempts only land him on his back a few feet away though, and by the time he solidifies, Gladio is on him again, their position back to square one.

Noctis hair is a tragic mess, grass stained and flying off in ten different directions. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, sweat sliding across and down his clavicle, and his breath is hot against Gladio’s neck.

For some confounding reason, Gladio is acutely aware of these details he has probably seen a million times before.

He’s got both Noctis’ wrists pinned down on the ground. Noctis is eerily still beneath him. If it weren’t for the intense look in his eyes, Gladio would’ve chalked this up to Noctis being a stubborn brat as usual.

He realizes that the game has changed, though Gladio’s still too deep in denial to acknowledge it.

“I win,” Gladio’s voice is a lot rougher than he meant it to be. He’s probably just thirst— because of the heat, of course. It’s making his throat dry.

“You did,” Noctis says, and damn, his voice is three tones deeper and huskier as well. It has to be completely unintentional too.

“Noctis.” Gladio should’ve known he was stepping into dangerous waters the moment he used the king’s full name. “What are you doing?”

Noctis tongue flickers out quickly, wetting his lips. He makes one last pitiful attempt at a struggle, lifting his hips just enough for Gladio to feel  _exactly_  what he wants his Shield to do. “What do you think?”

This  _bastard_.  Gladio sucks in a breath through his teeth, as he feels his own body betray him. Every time he thinks Noctis couldn’t get any more infuriating, he goes and pulls shit like this.

Noctis tilts his head slightly to the side, his hair falling behind his nape, baring his neck. “Well?”

He really  _really_ shouldn’t.

But Noctis is being a difficult (also gloriously disheveled and unfairly attractive but that's beside the point) and Gladio wants to both smother him and fuck him; also, the past few days taking on savage beasts just to earn enough money to afford Prompto's new gun has been hell on his stress levels, so.

He gives in.

*

That was that. Which lead to this.

The Executive Suite of the Lestallum Leville branch boasts king sized four poster beds crafted from the finest mahogany, and furnished with 600 thread count silk sheets and baby chocobo down pillows.

And yet, Gladio doesn’t really care about any of this, not when he’s got Noctis making soft, impious sounds underneath him, and looking up at Gladio from beneath the fringe of his ridiculously long eyelashes as Gladio works him open.

One of Noctis calves is draped over his shoulder and it’s just. Really hot. He could feel Noctis’ heel digging into the left wing of his tattoo, the line of his thigh slick with sweat as it presses against the eagle's head on Gladio's chest.

“Enough,” Noctis gasps. “Do it, come on.”

“Yeah, okay.” Gladio removes his pants and briefs in record time, kicking them over the side of the bed. He's so  _hard,_ it's almost medically worrisome actually, or at least he's pretty sure that if he doesn’t fuck Noctis soon, his dick is going to just shrivel and fall off into oblivion.  Really, he should’ve known it would only be a matter of time before all those close combat trainings would tip over to  _this_. It’s a miracle it lasted as long as it did. “Let me just…”

He drags his cock along the cleft of Noctis’ ass, the head catching at the rim before slowly sinking in.

Noctis makes an obscene, strangled sound beneath him, his hands twisting into the sheets. Gladio himself needs to grit his teeth to hold back his own choked moan, because Noctis is tight and hot and glorious around him, and he can't fucking believe he’s thinking of Noctis’ ass like it’s goddamn poetry— he really needs to change his reading material sometime.

“You okay?” Gladio asks, keeping himself still, watching Noctis’ face go through a whole gamut of emotions as he adjusts to Gladio's girth inside him. 

“Yeah,” Noctis answers, breathing hard.

“First time?”

Noctis glowers at him. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You sounded like you were dying.”

“I feel like I’ve been stabbed actually,” Noctis shoots back. He must’ve seen the sincere regret and guilt on Gladio’s face because he hurriedly follows it up with: “In a non-lethal, uh, sort of sexy way.”

Gladio snorts, internally relieved, and grips Noctis ass with one hand, adjusting his angle slightly. “You’re a real Picasso of words you know that.”

“Says the guy who said “In the Forests of Duscae, Pussy eats you.”

Touché. Gladio doesn’t say anything anymore but he does retaliate in the form of a sudden, almost vicious thrust that sends Noctis’ spine arching, head thrown back.

Like their sparring matches, they fall into an easy rhythm, Noctis taking it as well as Gladio’s giving it. Vaguely, Gladio thinks there’s something they may be forgetting, but it’s very  _very_ hard to think about much else right now, especially when Noctis goes concave beneath him, moaning wetly, and he’s ten— no— five seconds away from coming and then—

—Ignis and Prompto walk in.

*

And that’s how Gladio ends up frozen with his ass up in the air, hips ensconced in the ghostly blue wake of Noctis’ post-warp silhouette. Apt, considering it matches the state of his balls right now.

Because of course Noctis wouldn’t warp away while pinned on the mud by a ravenous coeurl but apparently wouldn’t have any problems warping mid-coitus.

The action left Gladio confused and paralyzed, the heat between his legs dissipating like vapour and for one horrifying moment, he fears Noctis took his dick away with him while warping. And was that a camera _shutter_ he just heard?

“My word.” Ignis mutters. His gaze is unabashedly fixed between Gladio’s legs. So is Prompto.

Oh god damn shit mother _fuck_ did Lucian magic really steal his penis. He’s going to  _murder_ Noctis in his wedding bed.

“Please,” he grits out, eyes squeezed shut. “Tell me my dick is still here.”

Prompto breaks out whatever spell Gladio’s dick (or possibly lack thereof) has him under. “Uh. Hold on, I can’t see for shit with Noct’s silhouette covering everything.” He steps a little closer, and narrows his eyes. “Whoa, yeah it’s still there.”

Gladio practically  _sags_ in relief. Sagging is one of the activities listed under “Things Shields of the Kings Are Not Supposed To Do” (right up there along “fucking the King” and also “Asking the King’s Retainers Inappropriate Questions About Your Genitalia” whoops) but Gladio almost got his manhood stolen here so he reserves the right to be a bit dramatic.  He almost sobs too, but he does have to maintain a modicum of pride somehow.

Prompto sits down on the edge of the bed, patting Gladio’s back sympathetically as he maneuvers himself to a more dignified position, leaning back against the headboard and throwing a blanket over his crotch.

Which is still half hard because life sucks like that. At least it’s solid proof that it’s still attached to his body.

Prompto whistles. “Wow Gladio, I apologize for ever mentioning that you’re overcompensating for something because of your choice of weaponry.”

It’s a testament as to how jarred Gladio is from the recent turn of events that he doesn’t even bother to react to the backhanded compliment. Instead, he finally manages to bring up the issue niggling at him earlier amidst all the possible dick thievery drama going on. “Why do you have your camera out?”

Instead of looking chastised, Prompto actually grins like a fiend and crosses his arms. “Well I’ve made it a habit to immediately start snapping away when entering a room where yelling is happening— it results to either blackmail material or crime evidence so it’s a win win.”

“Delete it. Right now.”

“What— no! Are you kidding me?” Prompto protests, reflexively stepping away from the bed and out of Gladio’s reach. “This is the greatest photo of my life! It’s you humping Noctis freaky blue silhouette— Vyv would throw himself in the path of a red giant for this!”

It’s hard to maintain a commanding presence when you’re naked, humiliated, and stuck under a powder blue duvet. So Gladio naturally defers to the next most logical intimidation tactic: violent threats. “You’re going to delete that or else this blackmail material will result to actual criminal evidence, so help me Six.”

Prompto waves a hand dismissively. “Relax, big guy, if it ever gets out, I’ll be sure to pixelate your face.”

“Uh huh, and I suppose my tattoos will just be random aesthetic touch then?!”

“Huh. You’re right.” Prompto shrugs. “I guess you’ll just be my slave forever.”

“You can’t have him, he’s  _my_ Shield,” Noctis’ voice is muffled, as he appears to be speaking from the large wardrobe from the corner of the room, but the petulance in it is obvious.

“Have I mentioned how dashing you look in this picture Noct?” Prompto replies without missing a beat, grinning even if Noctis obviously can’t see it. ”Like, I can’t believe your freaky blue magic captures the finest details of your sex hair, as well as your stunning flexibility—

“—Alright fine, you can borrow him after I’m married.”

Said the King of Lucis. From his hiding spot In The Closet. Which he is only inside of because he was caught Fucking his Shield.

How is Ignis not having a field day with this yet?

Prompto looks like he’s about to vomit from sheer  _glee_ , and Gladio doesn’t even want to think about what is going on inside his headspace right now because that way lies madness.

“Okay, playtime’s over,” he grouses, before Prompto can react to Noctis’ unjust (and fine, somewhat hurtful) ruling. “Prompto, if you don’t delete the photos right now, I am going to break you in a very painful place.”

Predictably Prompto just shrugs it off, as if Gladio just threatened him with a stuffed moogle. “Dude I’ve already been crotch-dragged by a Seadevil after getting breathed on by a Malboro, trust me, you can’t get any more painful than that.”

“Who said I’m breaking  _you_?” Gladio retorts. “I’m breaking your camera.”

Prompto immediately dismisses said camera into the aether. “Oops, now you can’t.”

“Fine.” Gladio cracks his knuckles menacingly. “Just your kneecaps then.”

“Please, as if you can catch me,” Prompto shoots back.

Gladiolus raises an eyebrow, mildly offended because  _seriously_? “What makes you think I can’t?”

“Well for one, I’ve been running every morning since I was ten,” Prompto answers, ignoring Gladio’s amused snort (because, he on the other hand, has been running every morning since he was  _five_ ).

Prompto stands up and dusts off his pants. “Two, I’m gonna have a head start.”

Gladio immediately stops being amused.

“And three, I have your pants.” And with that, Prompto turns around, snatches up Gladio’s carelessly strewn pants from the chaise and bolts out the door.

“Prompto get back here! PROMPTO!”

The sound of Prompto’s merry giggling echo through the corridor. Gladio briefly considers wrapping himself in a bedsheet and chasing Prompto down the halls, but one frosty look on Ignis’ face shoots down that option fairly quickly.

Right. Ignis. Gladio clears his throat and looks down, pretending to be ashamed of his undignified behavior. Ignis still hasn’t said more than two words in this whole debacle, which means he’s about to unleash verbal hell.

Ignis adjusts his glasses, and folds his arms. “I cannot believe you Gladio,” he says quietly.

Gladio winces. “Yeah okay, look— it was a moment of—”  _Weakness? Stupidity?_ Why the fuck is Noctis still hiding. He takes a deep breath to collect himself, and tries again. “I know I shouldn’t have… uh, taken advantage—”

“—He didn’t take advantage of me.” Noctis interrupts. “I wanted it.”

Well that resolves  _that_ issue at least. Gladio’s not going to pretend a part of him didn’t preen at that.

Ignis sighs and pushes his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “I completely understand your needs but nevertheless, the fact remains that your actions were incredibly unsafe.”

“Okay I know we did something inappropriate but Iggy, look, Prompto was straight up blackmailing us— shouldn’t you be more concerned about that?” It’s a long, probably crooked shot, but Gladio’s desperate here.

Ignis remains unimpressed. “Please don’t try to change the subject Gladio. If you must know, I honestly don’t have any issues with you and Noctis fornicating.”

Gladio blinks, partly because he never thought he’d hear the words “fornicate” in this century, and mostly because he’s pretty sure Ignis just said he’s perfectly okay with him and Noctis, well... you know.

“However, I do have issues with how irresponsible you two were being,” Ignis continues, before fixing Gladio his dreaded “calm but appalled face,” arms folded. “Gladiolus, you are the King’s  _Shield,_  surely you must know how important the issue of protection is.”

There’s a long damning beat of silence that follows these words.

Noctis is the first to break it. “Did… did you just compare Gladio to a  _condom_?”

Gladio's pretty sure that Clarus would be twisting in his grave if he could see the homicidal thoughts his son is having towards his King right now.  

Before Ignis can properly reply to that, Prompto reappears from behind him, and Gladio doesn’t fail to notice that his pants are oddly no longer in Prompto’s hands. “Wait what? Gladio’s a condom?”

Nope, scratch that, Prompto is a much more suitable candidate for his first homicide.

“No, because a condom actually does its job.”

Never mind. Ignis is going to be a lot harder to kill, since he probably has Gladio’s weaknesses mapped out the first time he saw him in battle back when they were teenagers, but Gladio can just sit on him and be done with it.

“Gladio’s a condom with holes in it,” Prompto corrects quickly.

Noctis actually laughs out loud, while Ignis demurely hides whatever expression he’s deemed fit for this most unholy of humiliations behind his gloved hand. Gladio vows to hurl them all into the gaping maw of a malbodoom on their next visit to Piteoss.

“I think,” he grits out between gnashed teeth. “That this is a good time to remind you all that I have the highest body count among all four of us.”

“We are aware,” Ignis responds dryly, unruffled as usual. He pushes his glasses up, and mercifully doesn't say anything more. Now that he has made his point clear to Gladio, Ignis turns towards the other half of this humiliation party.

“Noctis, why are you still hiding?” 

“Yeah  _Highness_ ,” Gladio adds, loudly, because dearly though he loves his King and has sworn to protect him with his life, he is not above throwing said King under the bus for making him the butt of their jokes for at least a couple of months after this, if Prompto has anything to say about it.

“Did Gladio’s dick scare you?” Prompto asks, deftly dodging the room service menu Gladio hurls at his head. “Because dude, I totally understand.”

“I'm not scared of Gladio’s dick.”

“It's okay you don't need to deny it,” Prompto continues, side stepping the TV remote that Gladio follows up with. “I mean, if dicks are fishes, his would be a Noble Arapaima.”

Having ran out of projectiles to hurt Prompto with, Gladio pinches the bridge of his nose, as he can no longer lie to himself than an MT marksman with a Cerberus rifle has set up shop in the opposite building to put him out of his misery.

“Thank you, Prompto, for ruining both sex and fishing for me in one sentence,” Noctis deadpans, the disgust in his voice evident despite the thick wood separating him from the rest of the room.

Why _is_ he still in the wardrobe anyway?

“Highness.” Ignis rubs his forehead wearily. “It’s very disorienting speaking to you in this state. Could you just please just come out of the closet?.”

“I think he already did,” Prompto pipes up because someone has to make that obvious joke.

“I can’t,” Noctis answers, sounding meek all of a sudden.

“And why not?”

“Because if I move... I’ll uh, literallydestroythecloset.”

Prompto raises an eyebrow. “What? You’ll  _destroy_ the closet? Whoa, hold up, this is  _way_ too much meta for me in one day.”

“...I said _literally,_ Prompto.”

“I've had enough of this nonsense.” Ignis declares and marches towards the large wardrobe closet purposefully.

There’s a broken panicking noise from inside the closet, Gladio swears he hears the sound of metal clashing, and was that wood... cracking? “Wait Specs no—”

Ignis yanks the doors open.

The closet falls apart.

And there, the King of Lucis stands (well, more like squats), his entire body a giant blush, and with only a thin jacket wrapped around his waist to preserve his modesty, in the middle of rubble, broken marble and split pinewood, surrounded by a variety of weapons which were seemingly summoned to keep the closet from falling down like a house of cards.

Prompto wrinkles his nose. “Dude, is that my jacket?

“It’s the only piece of clothing here,” Noctis protests, as his weapons are summarily dismissed back into the armiger. “Ignis will wash it later.”

Ignis sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “... What on Eos did this poor closet do to you to deserve you warp-striking it with… were these zwill crossblades?”

“... It was Ragnarok, actually...”

The severe look on Ignis’ face can stop a Mesmenir’s heart.

Noctis hangs his head.  “...It was the last thing I used in my armiger.”

Normally this is the point where Gladio would quietly tiptoe across the room, grab Prompto by  the scruff of his vest, and drag him out of the inevitable blast radius of the Ignis LectureTM.

But since Prompto is a little shit and stole his pants, well, guess he’ll just have to make do with hiding under the duvet or something.

“You do realize this is going to cost us a hefty sum from the Leville management.”

“I know.”

“Honestly Noctis, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.”

Gladio tunes out the rest of the lecture under the toasty covers of the Leville’s luxurious sheets. He can actually fall asleep like this. Maybe when he wakes up, this will all turn out to be a bad dream, and he can go back to kicking Noct’s ass. Or fucking it. He’s not really picky.

From this angle, the two of them paint a hilarious picture— Ignis in his dignified crowns guard battle attire scolding his shame-faced, half-naked King. Speaking of pictures...

Another shutter click finally stops Ignis from further elaborating on his opinion about Noctis actions and their corresponding implications to Noctis’ reputation.

“Great shot guys!” Prompto says, giving them all a thumbs up. “Love the lighting!”

Ignis looks at him and then at Gladio, and then finally back at Noctis. “Well, what’s done is done I suppose,” Ignis says calmly, grabbing Prompto by the arm and snatching the camera from his grasp in one smooth motion. “We do apologize for interrupting. I have the necessary supplies in my satchel, so you may continue your proclivities now.”

Ignis keeps a firm grasp on a whining Prompto as they both swiftly leave the room. As soon as the door closes, Noctis immediately hurries over and locks it. And then he hauls the coffee table over and pushes it against it for good measure. Then he turns around.

“Well,” he starts.

“Well,” Gladio replies.

Noctis scruffs a toe on the carpet. He’s still wearing Prompto’s jacket around his waist, hints of the magic of his dismissed weapons still curling around him. He looks ridiculous. Gladio would tell him that, but talking means Noctis will stop feeling uncomfortable, and given recent events, Gladio is perfectly content to let Noctis squirm all afternoon.

Finally, after a way too long period of awkward silence, Noctis raises his head to look at Gladio. “Uh. This is the part where one of us would say ‘Where were we…’ right?”

Gladio lets out a breath through his nose. Not the ice breaker he's expecting but it'll do. “Yeah well, that was before Iggy called me a condom and Prompto called my dick a fish so…” He gestures to the general lack of a tent between his legs. “Also you warped out on me while my dick was still up your ass, I haven’t forgotten.”

Noctis winces. “I’m sorry, I panicked.”

Gladio wants to laugh, but he’s afraid any laughter that would come out of him at this point would just make him look like a deranged maniac, which wouldn’t be far off course from what he’s currently feeling.

“I really am sorry Gladio,” Noctis mutters when he realizes Gladio won’t be accepting his apology so easily. He’s still standing by the door, clutching his left elbow with his right hand, Prompto’s flimsy jacket still wrapped around him.

There’s really something to be said about the king of a fallen kingdom looking vulnerable and unsure, turning to Gladio unabashedly for forgiveness. Even with such a ludicrous context.  

Finally, Gladio sighs. It’s impossible. Trying to resist Noctis has always been an exercise in futility, ever since Noctis earned Gladio's loyalty when he protected Iris all those years ago. “Alright fine. Stop making that stupid face already,” he grumbles.

Noctis face lights up, his smile small but bright, and while Gladio would rather eat his fingernails than admit it, there's no better feeling in the world than being a source of Noctis' happiness, however small or fleeting. He immediately starts walking back towards the bed, clearly intending to go back to what they were doing before. 

Gladio raises one hand, stopping Noctis in his tracks. "Hey, you heard what Iggy said,” he reminds him.  

Noctis looks up hopefully. “That he doesn’t mind us having sex?”

Gladio actually cracks a smile at that. “Yeah, that and we need protection.”

“Do we have to?” Noctis sighs, scowling, even as he trudges towards Ignis’ belongings on the other side of the room. “I have the ancient magic of Lucian Kings in my blood, do you really think I’d be susceptible to STDs?”

“That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard,” Gladio says, watching as Noctis bends down by their bags to rummage in the side pockets of Ignis’ overnight bag, making sure to deliberately point his ass in Gladio's general direction, a show of body confidence so rare it... actually works to turn Gladio on again. Huh. ”Just grab the damn rubber Noctis and get over here already.”

Noctis grins and much to Gladio’s surprise, he throws a small plastic something in his general direction. Next thing Gladio knows is, Noctis is colliding softly against him, his body unearthly warm, tendrils of warp magic still licking at his skin. He wraps a leg around Gladio’s waist, Prompto’s flimsy jacket bunched up between them. Gladio would normally feel guilty, but Prompto stole his pants, so he makes sure to rub his sweaty pecs all over it before flinging it over the bed.

Gladio picks up the plastic bottle Noctis used to warp with. “... Did you seriously just use your ancestors’ powers to inculcate a bottle of lube in your Armiger?”

“You’ll thank me for it one day,” Noctis promises, and kisses him.

*

The next time a couerl barrels into Noctis from behind, he phases effortlessly.

He also accidentally lobs a nearly empty bottle of lube at it, but Gladio mercifully turns a blind eye.

Prompto captures it on camera anyway.

~fin~

 

**Author's Note:**

> look, i don't even know


End file.
